


Norwegian Wood

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Apathy, Crack, F/M, Frustrated Ambition, Implied Sexual Content, Muggle Lily
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-23 14:17:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16160594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Voldemort needs a solicitor. Lily needs work. Lucius needs a drink or three.





	Norwegian Wood

**Author's Note:**

> The title, of course, comes from the Beatles song, which is an exercise in ridiculousness.

"Thank you so much for meeting with me," Voldemort says, settling himself into the straight-backed wooden chair in front of the matching, stringently organized desk.

 

"Not at all," the red-haired young woman returns, studying him closely, her hands folded on top of a notepad.

 

"I can count on your discretion in this matter, yes?"

 

She smirks. "As long as all discussions are on the clock, and you don't blur the lines of our purely professional relationship."

 

"Does that happen often?" he asks, affecting a sympathetic expression. (His facial muscles literally hurt for days afterward, even with all the severe scowling and enraged frowning he does to soothe them.)

 

She rolls her eyes. They're rather striking eyes, almond-shaped and emerald green. It's odd that he should notice them, really. "Male clients and colleagues sometimes act with unwanted familiarity."

 

He nods in understanding and sits back. "You have nothing to be concerned about from that quarter. Now, I hired you for one specific reason."

 

"What might that be?"

 

"Your sister is a witch." He'd learned this—with excruciating difficulty—from a less-than-forthcoming Severus Snape.

 

An expression of disappointment appears and disappears so quickly that he isn't sure he's seen it. "What have you hired me to do?"

 

"I want a property that rightfully belongs to me."

 

"Is it from a botched divorce settlement or from a disputed inheritance, Mr. Riddle?"

 

Botched divorce settlement? He thinks, amused. "The second. And refrain from calling me 'Mr. Riddle' in future. Mr. Riddle was my father."

 

"Of course."

 

"I killed him."

 

She starts. "What should I call you, then?" Terrified understanding—warring with shock—is dawning on her face, and he exults.

 

"My Lord will do."

 

She glares. "And if I refuse?"

 

"Normally I would resort to torture, but considering the service you are rendering, I'll hold off. You will likely forget this meeting, and we will never meet again."

 

"Why? I thought cursing people like me was kind of your thing. That's what my sister's told me, anyway."

 

"It is, but torture tends to bring out cowering and crying, and we haven't time for such things."

 

"Do you want me to thank you, Mr. Riddle?"

 

His teeth clench. The Cruciatus Curse coils in anticipation in his fingers, but something about her makes him reluctant to carry through on any part of his threat. "That would be greatly appreciated." Perhaps it is that she talks back, despite her fear. He finds it almost… _nothing_. He does not care a whit.

 

"Well, you'll have to forgive me for refraining. Now, back to the matter at hand..." Their introductory appointment continues with nothing more of note, and Voldemort wishes he were anywhere but this horrid Muggle establishment, and that he’d found a more spineless solicitor.

 

"Perhaps we could meet elsewhere next time," he says when their hour concludes. "As you know, I am... a wanted man." According to the posters everywhere, illustrated with a hyperbolic serpentine caricature.

 

She looks resigned. "I see the posters every day. Where would you prefer to meet?"

 

"The home of one of my... associates. I promise not to hurt you, and the pay will make it more than worth your while."

 

"Fine." She takes the card he hands her and pencils the place of their next meeting into her planner. "You know, working with you could ruin my career," she says casually.

 

He feels one of his brows twitch. "There will be no traces," he assures her. "And if you do have any difficulties down the line, I will take care of them." Naturally, such an endeavor would involve murdering anyone who dared get in her way—Lord Voldemort rewards his helpers well, but she doesn't need to know that.

 

"Fine," she sighs, still looking dubious. "But this really seems less than purely professional—"

 

"I need a solicitor and you need work. I recommend you put your scruples to rest."

 

She nods reluctantly.

 

"Thank you, Ms. Evans," he says, rising to his feet. "I look forward to our next appointment."

 

She shakes his proffered hand and ushers him eagerly from the room.

 

The days leading up to their second meeting find Voldemort in a strangely excited mood. His followers avoid him more than usual, but he's never really cared what they think and isn't going to start now. (Of course, this could explain why he remains nothing more than a vigilante dark lord wannabe after almost twenty years of fighting, but who's to say?) On the evening prior to Ms. Evans's arrival, he gathers everyone together—including seven-year-old Draco, happily playing with a model Hogwarts Express—in the Malfoys' opulent drawing room.

 

"I have hired a Muggle solicitor to deal with any extraneous Muggle affairs. She is discreet. I pay her well... with other people's money... Yes, namely yours, Lucius." (Abraxas had given it only too willingly. Lucius, however, often needs reminding.)

 

"My Lord?"

 

"What I'm saying, Lucius, is that should you or anyone see her about, you are to refrain from any sort of heckling or harassment. Your money is, after all, paying her fees. You wouldn't want it to go to waste, now would you?"

 

There is a mass of disappointed groans. Draco glances up briefly, sticks out his tongue, then goes back to his train. Voldemort facepalms. He can't even inspire proper fear in children anymore.

 

(It is at this moment that Lucius Malfoy begins to reconsider his allegiances. Glorified Mudblood freeloaders... What would his father say?

 

"Well, son, he and I fucked back in the day, and also he's kind of terrifying when he gets mad. You want to piss him off? Then on your head be it."

 

Goddammit! Except that the Dark Lord seems to have lost some of his bite recently...

 

With this realization, Lucius goes off to have a drink or three.)

 

*

 

"So, can you be of service to me?" Voldemort asks when he's finished outlining his situation to an increasingly incredulous Lily Evans the next afternoon. "The Riddle manor could be useful to me, and I would like to have it in my name."

 

"Well, Mr. Riddle, we have to consider a number of the finer aspects of inheritance law. Considering that you have no actual proof of your relationship and that they did not include you in their will—which, I should point out, is barely more than a blanket passage of everything to your father, who obviously never made a will of his own—that might be quite difficult."

 

"Also the small matter of my having murdered them."

 

She looks pained. "Quite, Mr. Riddle. I'm glad we understand each other."

 

A couple more weeks pass. He is impatient for their next meeting and finds himself dwelling on... her.

 

She storms into his study on the appointed day, a large sheaf of papers in hand. "I've done everything I could. There is no possible way that wouldn't involve either huge bribes or magical coercion for you to get the house."

 

He sighs, unsurprised. He should have skipped the solicitor and gone straight to coercion. But... then he would never have met her and would have remained in his suspended state of boredom. "Thank you for trying," he tells her sincerely.

 

"You know," she says severely, "when you first told me the particulars, I really didn't think I could help you."

 

"Seems you were right."

 

"I usually am," she replies, preening. She packs everything away, preparing to leave forever.

 

His mouth moves before he can properly think anything through. "May I take you out for an evening?"

 

"Like on a date?" Thankfully, she appears intrigued rather than amused or disgusted.

 

"Exactly." (What is he _doing_?)

 

"Your wild goose chase of a case has made me horny as fuck, so... why not?" She shakes out her mane of ginger hair, her eyes raking over him shamelessly.

 

Perhaps he's made a mistake and should Obliviate her now…

 

But one date turns into two, and then they're fucking within the week, and he has no regrets. Lily doesn't appear to, either.

 

"I sometimes have this strange sense that this is entirely wrong," he admits late one evening, as they lay side by side.

 

"And what would that be, Mr. Riddle?" She props herself on one elbow and gazes down at him.

 

"As if, in another life, we were not like this at all."

 

"We should be enemies—rather something like enemies—in this one," she reminds him. "Maybe we really are in others." She flops back onto the pillow. "Don't think about it. It's not worth it."

 

He agrees without protest.

 

Sometimes, he considers killing her (he is Lord Voldemort, after all, and murder is what he knows best). How would he do it? With a curse, perhaps, or by smothering her with a pillow after coitus. Poison, even? No, definitely not the last one. Too distant, too impersonal, and far less than she deserves. Then he thinks about it a bit more, and the itch goes away.

 

*

 

"I think you should start calling me Tom, things being what they are between us."

 

She laughs delightedly and runs her fingers through his hair. "Why? 'Mr. Riddle' pisses you off so much!"

 

He blushes—an honest-to-God blush that he will never admit to. "Actually, I rather enjoy hearing you say it. But you haven't been doing much legal work for me recently—"

 

"No," she says in a sultry voice, batting her long, ginger eyelashes. "You've been doing most of the work..."

 

He hushes her with a quick kiss. "And I'll gladly do more," he says, "if you are amenable. But I really do feel formalities should be properly dispensed with."

 

"Oh, I'm amenable, Tom."

 

As they eagerly prepare for their second round of the afternoon, there is a knock upon the door.

 

"What the fuck do you want?" Voldemort shouts, snatching up his wand from the bedside table.

 

"Sorry, My Lord," Lucius calls through the door. "It's just that we—that is to say, all your once-loyal Death Eaters—have decided we don't need you anymore, since you seem to have lost your way.”

 

“Lost my way?” Not _him_! “How so?”

 

“The ostentatious Muggle fucking, my lord,” Lucius replies. “We cannot abide it.”

 

Voldemort sighs. Lily rolls her eyes. "Going to kill me, then, to appease them?" she asks him.

 

"Domestic life was never my preference," he murmurs, "but then you came along. There are other ways to take over the world. I don't think I need fools like them traipsing after me anymore. They've really been getting in the way recently."

 

"Fantastic conclusions," Lily enthuses. "Now let’s get back to fucking."

 

"With pleasure." He sends a Stinging Hex through the door. "I said no heckling or harassment, Lucius!" They hear him cry out in pain and scurry away. "So, where were we?"

**Author's Note:**

> I posted this in March, but removed it when the pairing lost its charm. Reposting, on the off chance someone finds some enjoyment in it.


End file.
